Deadly Visions Part 2

Joe picked up the sketch pad. There, in Monica's distinctive style, was a drawing of a man being attacked by wispy, cloaked figures floating over him.

"s.h.i.t," Howe whispered.

"Is there anything else you can tell us?" Carla asked."Anything that might help us to-"

"A circle with two intersecting lines," she said.

Joe tensed.

Monica caught their shocked looks."It was on him someplace, wasn't it?"

"Can you tell us what it means?" Carla asked.

"I don't know. It may have been a signature ...or a warning."

"A warning about what?" Joe said.

"I can't be sure." She looked down at her sketch pad."But I have a feeling we're about to find out."

After dropping Monica off at her hotel, Joe, Carla, and Howe stood on the sidewalk along Courtland Street to compare notes. For a long while they didn't say anything. Joe watched a homeless man gathering cans nearby, trying to stay ahead of the approaching street-sweeper.

"Ghosts," Howe finally said with disgust."If we didn't already look like a.s.ses for listening to a psychic, we sure will now."

"She had the symbol pegged though," Carla said. She turned to Joe."Any idea how she did that?"

Joe shrugged."The same way most psychics do it. There are dozens of people in our department and the coroner's office who knew about that symbol on his chest. She or an advance person could have posed as a reporter and bribed someone for the in-formation. She may have even approached an employee at the funeral home."

Howe grimaced."Really?"

"It's been known to happen. If you wave a hundred-dollar bill in an embalmer's face, chances are good that he'll talk to you."

"Good to know," Howe said."When I go, I'll make sure my kids just put me out with the garbage."

Carla chuckled."So what's next?"

"Now she wants to visit the other crime scenes." Howe sighed."She thinks it might help give her a stronger impression as to what happened. Are you up for it, Spirit Basher?"

"Only if you promise to stop calling me that."

The soft rays of dawn began to appear as Joe parked in front of the three-story apartment building that had once been the Robert E. Lee Elementary School. Joe had attended fourth and fifth grades there, but the reconfigured corridors and converted lofts bore little resemblance to the place where he had once been so mesmerized by Ms. Eversole's fluorescent eye shadows and terrified by Mrs. Lydecker's cruel taunts. He'd moved there with his wife, Angela, during his days as a professional magician, and the large, high-ceilinged loft had allowed him the s.p.a.ce to construct and rehea.r.s.e his stage illusions. Now, al-most eight years after he'd abandoned his performing career, he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. He hadn't particularly enjoyed his elementary-school days, but he did love the life that he and Angela had made for themselves there.

Angela. It had been almost three years since she'd died of ovarian cancer. Three years since she had let out that long last breath that he could still hear sometimes in the dark dreams that crept into his head every week or so. Throughout the twenty-two months of doctors, hospitals, and lab tests, he'd tried to prepare himself and his eight-year-old daughter, Nikki, for that moment, but it was impossible. h.e.l.l, he still stilldidn't know how to deal with it. It had been too easy to worry about his daughter and not dwell on the fact that he had just lost the love of his life. But now, with Nikki growing older and maturing into an intelligent, well-adjusted adolescent, it was harder than ever to escape the feelings of loss.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and walked into the s.p.a.cious living area. The streetlights cast a pale glow over the wood floor, broken by criss-crossing grids of shadows from the wire-reinforced windows.

Sam Tyson sat upright on the sofa, sound asleep, as an infomercial for teeth-whitening strips flickered on the television in front of him.

"Hi, Daddy," Nikki whispered. She stood in the doorway on the other side of the room, wearing her gla.s.ses and the oversized Stars on Ice T-shirt that she slept in.

"What are you doing up?"

"I heard you come in. I wanted to make sure you weren't some thief who was going to hurt Sam."

"Yeah, good thing he came over for you to baby-sit him, huh?"

Nikki picked up a cotton throw blanket and gently pulled it over Sam."That's okay. He told me stories about what a good magician you were."

"Again? Sorry about that."

"He thinks you should quit being a cop and go back to doing that."

"Is that what you think too?"

"Nah. Mommy told me that you were hardly ever home back then."

He smiled."That's right. And I gotta tell you, these days a magician is even lower than a mime on the show-business food chain."

Nikki made a face."Nothing'slower than a mime on the show-business food chain."

"You may have a point."

"So what's Monica Gaines like?"

Joe glanced at Sam, but he was still sound asleep."She's interesting. A little more intense than she is on the 1-900 commercials."

"Does she know who did it?"

Joe thought about telling Nikki about Monica's reading of the crime scene. Probably not a good idea."I'm afraid she doesn't. I think she's going to check out some of the other ones though."

"Good."

"Why is that good?"

Nikki sat on a chair arm."After you told me you were going to meet her, I checked out her website. She's helped solve over a hundred cases."

"Don't believe everything you read, okay? The way these people work, they throw out dozens of impressions in every investigation, and if one or two of them happen to hit, they claim that as a success.""But she has quotes from police detectives.""Often even the officers involved in the cases tend to forget about all the false clues and focus just on the hits. Almost anytime that anyone has recorded the psychics and logged all of their impressions and compared those with things that turn out to be really worthwhile, they end up looking a lot less miraculous.""Did you record Monica Gaines tonight?" Joe smiled and pulled a micro ca.s.sette recorder from his jacket pocket."You bet."

Monica Gaines knelt before the hotel minibar, trying to decide whether or not to grab a second bottle of rum.

What the h.e.l.l.

She twisted off the cap and poured it into her half-empty can of diet c.o.ke. If only she could maintain her buzz for the rest of time she was there. She'd flown in the previous afternoon, and she already wished she were back home, asleep in her own bed or curled up on her sofa and reading prep notes for the next batch of shows.

After hundreds of investigations, it was easy to size up the cops she encountered. That night, Carla was the only faintly open-minded one. Howe was too busy playing the part of a smart-a.s.s, and Joe Bailey would probably never believe in her. She'd heard of the Spirit Basher, but Bailey was younger and more personable than she'd imagined. She was relieved he hadn't displayed the cynical, nasty streak that most die-hard skeptics had. Despite his obvious disbelief in her abilities, he seemed to be a reasonable man.

A knock at the door.

Before Monica could answer it, she heard a sharp click, and the door swung open.

A pale, plump man in his mid-forties stepped into the room. Derek Haddenfield."h.e.l.lo, Monica."

"I knew I shouldn't have given you a key."

Haddenfield chuckled."Did you have a productive evening?"

"I don't know yet."

"When will w.i.l.l.you know?"

"When I can tell them who the killer is. You know how this works."

Haddenfield nodded."My team gets into town early tomorrow. I thought it would be a good idea for you and me to get together and coordinate."

She took a sip of her drink."Couldn't this have waited until later?"

He smiled."I know you can never sleep after going out for a reading." He glanced at the two empty rum bottles."At least not until you drink enough to pa.s.s out."

She turned away."That's none of your business."

"Sure it is. Everything you do is my business. We're partners."

"I'm starting to have regrets."

"It's too late for that, Monica." Haddenfield sat on the edge of the bed."Get some rest. You've just begun the most important seventy-two hours of your life."

Joe stared at Captain Sheila Henderson."You're kidding, right?"

"Afraid not, Bailey. We want you to stick with Monica Gaines for a while." Henderson, a forty-seven-year-old woman whose hair was pulled back so tight that it threatened to tear off her face, sat on the corner of her battered maple desk. She had only recently been promoted, which ignited another round of innuendo that plagued all fast-tracking female cops; i.e., they slept their way to the top or were lesbians who benefited from a mysterious"gay network." As far as Joe could tell, however, Henderson had risen through the ranks only because she was a d.a.m.n good cop.

He'd been summoned to Henderson's office only minutes after arriving at headquarters. Although he'd tried to catch a few hours'sleep, he was still groggy.

"Look, I was useless out there. Gaines said the murders were committed by evil spirits. They're just words. There's no way I can debunk that."

"I know. But if she does decide to put something over on our guys, I need you there to explain it. What do you have going on now?"

"Well, I'm gathering evidence on the Northlake insurance fraud ring. This afternoon they're going to be in the parking lot of an abandoned shopping center, practicing ch.o.r.eography for auto accident setups. I'm planning to camp out in one of the storefronts and videotape them."

"Put Garrison or Saunders on it. We need you on this."

Joe gave her a puzzled look."With all due respect, why not just send Monica Gaines on her way and tell her you'll be on the lookout for any homicidal spirits?"

"I'd like nothing better, but I can't do that. We initially refused her offer to help, just as we refuse the a.s.sistance of all psychics. But she began talking about the cases on her television show, and suddenly everyone is wondering why we don't take all the help we can get. Then Councilman Talman started breathing down the chief's neck."

"Since when does the chief of police answer to a city councilman?"

"Since he found out that Talman has been quietly gathering support for a run at the mayor's office next year."

Joe grimaced."That explains a lot."

"I don't have to tell you that most people have at least some belief in the paranormal. Even if they're on the fence, they believe we should try anything we can to catch this killer. I know it's probably a waste of your time, but if this Gaines woman puts any c.r.a.p over on us, we could come out of this looking worse than we probably already do. Even if she doesn't go in for the sleight-of-hand stuff, you're up on the methods these people use, aren't you?"

"To give the appearance that they have psychic powers? Sure."

"Then I need you in there to keep an eye on her. Work with Carla Fisk and Mark Howe on this. Misery loves company, right?"

"If you say so."

Henderson reached for a faxed doc.u.ment on her desk and handed it to Joe."Councilman Talman is hosting a reception for Gaines on his dinner-cruise boat this afternoon. He's invited the officers involved in the case to attend. Be there."

Derek Haddenfield closed his eyes and felt the late-morning sun on his face. Nice to be outdoors, away from the buzzing, flickering fluorescent lights where he'd spent the previous several months. If only there wasn't so much work to do.

He motioned toward the Foster Window Treatments van parked on the dirt road. The rear doors flew open and his three team members jumped out, carrying cameras, surveying equipment, and trifield meters. They weren't the experts he would have chosen for this kind of fieldwork, but there wasn't time to send for anyone else. Dammit.

They were at the scene of Ernest Franklin's murder, where, less than nine hours before, Monica Gaines had gathered her first psychic impressions related to the spotlight murders. Haddenfield wishedhe had gotten there earlier, but he'd needed time to brief the team.

"The checklist is in the van," he said."Make sure we get everything."

They moved quickly and efficiently, measuring the area and using a compa.s.s and surveyor's scope to pinpoint the precise geographic coordinates where Franklin's body had been found.

Haddenfield turned to Gary, a bearded young man holding a custom-built 3-D digital video camera with two large lenses."Okay, circle the perimeter with that thing and keep tightening the circles as you go around. When you finish, I want you to end up at the target zone, got it?"

Gary smiled, his beard almost covering his bottom row of teeth."Got it."

"And, Gary, tell me the 3-D gla.s.ses that work with that thing won't make me cross-eyed."

"No can do, boss."

"Terrific."

Haddenfield glanced around to make sure no one else was watching. All clear. The last thing he needed was for the police to come nosing around, asking what the h.e.l.l they were doing there. He had phony press credentials in the van, and although he was sure he could convince the cops they were a camera crew working for a tabloid TV news show, it could make things difficult for him to carry out the job he had to do in the days ahead.

Nothing must stand in the way of that.

Joe rode with Howe and Carla to the Lake Lanier dock where the Carlotta Carlottawas moored. Easily the largest craft on the lake, the Carlotta Carlottawas a popular destination for tourists and well-heeled locals. Joe had once taken Nikki there for a birthday lunch, but he had no idea that Edward Talman owned it until Henderson had told him that morning.

"The boat must come in handy for fund-raising dinners, huh?" Howe said as they neared the Carlotta. Carlotta."If I owned that thing, I could be city councilman."

"Now, that's a scary thought," Carla said.

They pulled alongside the boarding ramp, where an army of valet parking attendants was waiting to whisk the guests'cars away. Howe surrendered his vehicle, and he, Joe, and Carla stepped onto the boat. It was a 120-foot craft with two main decks, each filled with tables covered with white tablecloths, flowers, expensive china, and gleaming crystal. The lower deck was enclosed, dark, and luxurious, with a rich cherry wood covering the walls and ceiling. The upper deck, which Joe preferred, was light, open, and s.p.a.cious.

The place was packed. In the first ten seconds after he boarded, Joe spotted a United States senator, a CNN anchorwoman, and the manager of the Braves baseball team.